


花

by deltachye



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Reader-Insert, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-09-12 10:13:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9067306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/pseuds/deltachye
Summary: [male!reader / guang-hong ji]Flowers bloom, we cannot enjoy them at the same time,Flowers fall, we cannot be sad at the same time.I want to ask you will we miss each other,When flowers bloom, when flowers fall.— “春望词四首”, 薛涛





	1. I - 玫瑰

花落知多少。

* * *

 

 

“I wish my father would send me to the military.”

“What?”

You stared at the young boy as he stared down at his skates, his head resting in his palms. Normally he’d be halfway across the ice, turning back only to demand that you be ready faster and join him. But today, something was different. A cloud of depression hung over the young boy’s face and a chill enthralled you the longer you looked at his forlorn expression.

“Why, Guang-Hong…?” You shifted in your seat beside him as he continued to stare down at his black skates, as if trying to find some flaw in them. Finally he looked up to you, his jaw clenched tight, tendons jumping under his skin.

“I know they hate me. I’m too feminine. I’m not the son they wanted. They hate me and I need to make it better, but what am I doing… skating…!”

You were not prepared to take the onslaught of self-deprecation and hate. His tears readily froze on his face, slowing their descent before they could hit the ground. Quickly, you took your red scarf and moved to wipe them away for him, but he pushed you aside.

“Leave me. I’m done.”

“Guang-Hong, no—”

“I said I’m done.” He stood and began to walk away, his bag slung across a shoulder. You got up on your skates hastily, having difficulty catching up to him. When you did, you had to throw your entire body weight against him to stop the young man from moving away.

“Why would they hate you?” you breathed angrily. “You’re beautiful.”

“That’s why they hate me!” He shook you off, glowering hotly, an expression that was too unfamiliar on his gentle features. “I’m not a man! I’m… I’m disgusting!” He spat the last statement out with a muffled sob and then he was crying hard, shaking in your arms. His face was a mosaic of reds. You were taller than him in your skates and braced him as he leant into your shoulder.

“You’re not!” you snapped, speaking over top his head. “Have you seen the way you skate? The way you move? You’re beautiful! It doesn’t _matter_ that you don’t fit the role of the man. It doesn’t matter if you think they hate you, because they love you. And if you can’t believe that, _I_ love you.”

“You… do?” He raised his head and stared at you through large watery eyes. His eyes had always been beautiful, the colour like malted honey. His hair was light, unlike those of the dark haired boys milling around beside you. He was different. Everybody knew that. He was unique, but… most of all, he was beautiful.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled that out… but it’s true. You’re beautiful.” You let go of him and watched him stand on his own.

“I’m sorry for being so weak… god, I really am like a woman.” He sniffled and you shook your head, unravelling your scarf and pressing it into his hands instead of wiping his tears for him.

“You’re just a man with sensitivity to beauty. That’s all. Now, are we going to skate or not, Ji Guang-Hong?” You chided him, flicking him upside the head, earning a small mewl of complaint. You stepped onto the outdoor rink and slid backwards, beckoning to him. “Come on! I’m not getting any younger!”

Your scarf smelled softly of roses, blocking the chemical smog of Beijing air. He hesitated, the silk cloth in his numb fingers. But you were chanting his name loudly, embarrassing him in front of all the others—so he decided that it didn’t matter that he, a boy, wore a scarf and loved a boy. In what way? He didn’t know, nor did he care all too much, your declaration of love still in his ear. He slung your scarf around his neck, hastening to get his skates on his feet so that he could rejoin you on the ice.


	2. II - 薰衣草

“I don’t know, [Name]…”

“It’ll be fine!” you yelled, your face stretched wide with a big grin. You gave him a little prod between the shoulder blades, making him jump. “It’s just a little interview, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but—!” He turned to look at you pleadingly, hoping that you’d tell him ‘you know what? Let’s go home.’ “What if they fail me…? What if the government doesn’t want me?”

His insecurities that had been piling up since day 1 began to teeter and totter in his head like a failed Jenga tower. What if he wasn’t good enough for them like he wasn’t good enough for them, or what if he just wasn’t wanted?

“Ji Guang-Hong!” you scolded strictly, in a tone that made his spine straighten out and his head jump up with fear. You jabbed a finger into his face, leaning closer, and he could smell a faint breath of lavender coming off of you.

“You! Will! Be! Fine! Fighting!” Your yelling was attracting the attention of the other Team China candidates and they watched curiously as another boy shook him around. Your voice softened and you held him straight, his head spinning from the jostling. “…and I’ll be out here, waiting for you, no matter what happens in that room. Okay?”

“You promise?” he blurted out weakly, his voice wavering. He hadn’t wanted it to crack but suddenly, he feared he might, feeling his heart splinter under the pressure. If he failed, what did he have left to him? To his surprise you didn’t push him away or roll your eyes or even nod—instead, you merely smiled.

“Yeah, I promise. Here, lavender is supposed to relax you.”

You took a handkerchief out from your pocket and gave it to him. When he smelled it, the same gentle scent on your fingertips was on it. Tension drained from his shoulders and he hid half his face behind the black handkerchief, looking up at you with fierce eyes.

“I’m going to get my spot on the skating roster,” he declared suddenly. Your smile was as delicate as the aroma of lavenders weaved into the cloth, but it stuck with him just as powerfully.


	3. III - 百合

“You’ve gotta open the envelope some time, Guang Hong.”

“I will! Just… not yet.”

He fidgeted with the heavy manila envelope, hating that his fingers were shaking. He’d gotten it in the post that morning and it was already almost next morning, but he couldn’t open it. His name printed in such a rigid, formal font made waves of insecurity come crashing at him. Every time he thought there was a lull in the fear, it came coming right back, pressing hard on his chest and driving him to his knees. What if he hadn’t made it? What if everything was for nothing after all and he _was_ just a failure like everybody thought?

“Give it to _me_ , then.”

“What?” His head snapped up to you as you placed your palm out, giving him a knowing look.

“I’ll open it for you. Then you’ll have to read it, because the envelope’s open, and there’s no going back.”

Hesitating, he took a full minute to think before thrusting the envelope out to you. His fingers were still gripping it desperately when you jerked the letter out of his hands. The cardstock smelled strongly of perfumed lilies, sickly even, and he felt nauseous as you tore the envelope open carelessly. Your face was entirely nonchalant as you did so. He didn’t understand how you could be so… strong. Here he was, about to die out of worry, and you were just opening an envelope. _His_ envelope, because he had been too cowardly to open it by himself. Maybe it was because you were just more masculine than him and more masculine than he’d ever be—you were, after all, the son his parents had wanted. What was he? He was staring at you too closely that he didn’t even notice when you were trying to give the envelope back to him.

“Guang.” You shoved it into his hands, closing yours around his. Your hands were warm against his cold ones and he flinched.

“What? Oh…”

“I didn’t read it yet, but now you’ve got to. Okay? So read it.” You pulled your warm hands away and crossed your arms, your forearm muscles flexing as you tapped your fingers against your elbow. “I’m waiting.”

“You’re waiting…?” He glanced up nervously as you nodded.

“For you to tell me that you got accepted into the roster.”

“How can you be so confident in me?” he protested suddenly, wanting to tear his hair out as he glared at you. “Don’t you _get_ it? There were three thousand and thirty four applicants for male singles this year. Over three _thousand_! A-and you think they’d pick _me_?” He laughed self-deprecatingly before you shrugged.

“Yeah,” you said, so simply that you didn’t even have a change in expression. “‘Cause you’re one of the best.”

“I… what?” Guang Hong was too shocked to comprehend and his brow furrowed.

“Don’t believe me?” you challenged suddenly, the low drop in your tone immediately bringing goosebumps to his skin. You leant in close with a crooked grin. “Then tell me I’m wrong and read the letter.”

Guang Hong’s jaw ground as he grit his teeth. He felt your breath across his skin like a spring’s breeze in the cold and was suddenly self-conscious of how close you were. Turning away sharply, he sighed loudly to prove his annoyance.

“Fine! I’ll read it!” he snapped. With a long, shaky sigh, he pulled the letter out of its envelope. It was folded three times, by machine, the crisp lines too perfect to be done by hand. He opened one fold. _In address to Ji Guang Hong._ He opened the next fold.

_It is our honour to announce that Ji Guang Hong, hailing from Beijing, has hereby been accepted to be a competitive male figure skater to represent the great and honourable China for 2017._

“Told you.”

“Gah!” Guang Hong whirled around on his bed, not having expected you to read over his shoulder. You were grinning widely, the smile still a bit crooked as you shrugged nonchalantly.

“What’d I tell you? You got in.”

“I…” Guang Hong couldn’t help but look back down at the letter, squinting hard at the characters to make sure he was reading it right. “There hasn’t been a misprint or anything, right?”

“Dude, it’s in traditional _and_ simplified, _and_ there’s pin yin. Even a two year old can tell you that you got in. You did it, Guang Hong.” You were still grinning, but a bit more mischievously, as if you were saying something in that smile that he wasn’t allowed to hear. “I’m proud of you.”

“I did it,” he repeated, saying it quietly to affirm it to himself. He still couldn’t quite believe it, despite the three lines telling him that he had. So he said it again. “I really did it. I made it… right? I really made it?”

“You made it,” you agreed with a nod. “You’re going to compete at the international level. You beat out more than three thousand other guys. You’re one of China’s best. You, Guang Hong— _you_.”

“Me,” he repeated. “Me.”

Finally, he said it with confidence. A smile blossomed slowly across his face like a giant tiger lily as he kept realizing it. Suddenly he was leaping at you, his arms wrapped hard around you as two bodies hit the floor.

“I did it!” he yelled in your ear, yelling it to himself and the world. “I did it, I really did it!”

The smell of lilies was less cloying and suddenly became sweet, emphasized with the taste of victory as he laughed, holding you tight in his arms. You wrapped one of your own arms around him and laughed too, snickering before the both of you were in hysterics, unable to speak through sets of giggles and abdomen pain.

“You’re my best guy, Guang Hong,” you finally managed hoarsely, wiping tears out of your eyes as he pulled himself off of you, reaching for a tissue. Guang Hong blew his nose as he peered at you.

“Your best guy?” he asked nasally, not quite understanding. You shook your head and waved him off.

“Nevermind. Go tell your parents!”

“Oh, r-right! Yeah, I’ll be right back!”

Guang Hong scrambled to his feet, hollering for his mama and baba, ignoring their disgruntled moaning and groaning and _‘do you know what time it is?!’_. You sat alone in his bedroom, a smaller smile on your face now that he was gone, and it was laced with sadness. The letter had fallen to the floor and you picked it up, tracing your fingers over his name. China had realized what you had realized long ago—Guang Hong was their best. He wasn’t just _your_ best guy anymore, but he was theirs as well. You put the letter back down carefully once you heard his parents’ muffled noises of joy upstairs. Sitting back, you practiced smiling without grimacing as you wondered how you’d go about saying goodbye to him once he was sent away…


	4. IV - 紫藤

“And the sun never seems to set here!”

You smiled, the quality of it butchered through the laptop’s camera, but radiant all the same. Guang-Hong felt the one on his own face soften, the warmth in his heart seeming to overflow.

“I’m glad that you’re having a good time abroad,” you said, stifling a yawn behind your closed fist. Your voice sounded a bit different over the mic; a bit sleepier, a bit groggier. Guang-Hong realized that he probably should’ve checked the time before going off on such an excited rant.

“It’s late over there,” he gasped, feeling a flash of guilt as he registered the time difference on his phone’s screen. “You should’ve gone to sleep hours ago!” The call had been running for a near five hours, and Guang-Hong could barely believe that that much time had gone past. It only felt like he’d been talking to you for five minutes, but he felt like he’d been gone for five years. 

“Didn’t want to,” you replied a bit smugly, “I wanted to hear more about your training. It’s the most exciting thing that’s happened, and it’s not even happening to me.”

“Your health is way more important than I am,” Guang-Hong argued. He put up a stubborn front, but truthfully, he was secretly pleased that he meant this much to you. Did that make him special? Did that make him… important to you? He probably shouldn’t have cared so much, but he did. That much felt inescapable.

You replied by laughing. Guang-Hong felt his heart flutter at the sound—of course, he stifled it, but felt his heart skip a beat all the same. 

“I can always give up a few hours of sleep to talk to you,” you reassured, waving him off with that carefree air he had always been so jealous of. “I miss you here. It’s too lonely without you around.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, wishing that he were there to close the gap. He was a bit resentful that you were only admitting this now, when he wasn’t even sitting on the same continent. If you’d said that earlier, he might’ve stayed—although it would make sense if that were the reason you’d kept quiet. You seemed to support him even more than his parents did, forcing him into mini competitions or practice whenever he was feeling low about himself. Your approval was bright and energetic, even when you were snappy or scolding, whereas the feelings from his mother and father were always begrudging in nature. You were his number one fan since day one. It was thanks to you that he even had any fans at all. 

It was all thanks to you.

You smiled again, a bit more wryly.

“What did I just tell you? Your life’s way more exciting than mine. I was looking forwards to this call for ages, man.”

“Ages, huh?” Guang-Hong sighed. He leant back from the computer, rubbing his eyes. It wasn’t nearly as ungodly of an hour at his place than it was in Beijing, but practice was brutal every day, and he could already feel the soreness setting in. 

“Hey, G—uang—I—”

“What?” Guang-Hong asked, leaning forwards as if that’d help. Your words didn’t match with the frozen picture on the screen. It was probably his dorm’s wi-fi, which was so cheap that it ended up stuttering often. “I think you’re cutting out.”

“…you. What?”

“I didn’t get that. Did you say something?”

“…no,” you sighed, lying to his face. The lag seemed to fade, as if it’d just acted up at that exact moment to spite him. “It’s nothing.”

Despite the poor quality, Guang-Hong knew your face well enough to know the flash of regret across your eyes. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, prompting exasperatedly. 

“…not really. But you’ve got to go now, don’t you?” You smiled, pained, cutting the call before Guang-Hong could even begin to say goodbye.

 _I… you. I love you_? Guang-Hong thought, his face exploding with embarrassed warmth as soon as he had the selfish idea. Was that what you had said? Were those the three simple words that couldn’t seem to pass through an internet signal, too heavy and meaningful for a screen? 

He was hopeless for wishing like this. He even felt the need to cover his face, the thought of _you_ saying that to _him_ … no, he was just imagining it. It’d probably been something trivial like “I support you”, or something of the sort. He’d probably have better luck chasing stars or winning gold at the Olympics. Somebody as great as you would never end up liking somebody like him.

Still, he hoped wistfully.


	5. V - 蒲公英

The green trees below looked like veins, sprawling out across the ground to nourish the Earth. Everything looked comically small. Guang-Hong let out a small sigh, the glass of the miniature window fogging up as he did. A few more hours and then he’d be _home_. His eyes drifted shut, his heart skipping a beat. Home.

Everybody was planning for his return, but he felt hopelessly tired just thinking about it. His extended family would be lined up down the block, demanding to have a picture or token or _something_ that they could greedily gobble up from him. Even the cousins thrice removed would claim that they had some part in developing his skating prowess and success. It was downright disgusting, in his opinion, but Guang-Hong knew that he couldn’t upset anybody for his own selfishness. Besides, he knew for himself that _you_ were the only one who deserved to take part in any praise. He closed his eyes, your smile drifting to his face.

For once, he did not push you away.

Although it hurt to be away from home and familiarity, the shock factor of the foreign training camp had opened his eyes. He had never been exposed to these type of people, and the world seemed so much bigger. He met so many people and heard so many stories, cute and wild and gross and boring and utterly _life-changing_. His world in a tiny Beijing apartment grew exponentially as he stumbled across all the right people and all the right experiences. People dyed their hair blue and pink and had tattoos sprawled across their skin because they wanted to. People said what they thought was right. People loved people without fear of the consequences. Women loved women and men loved men… and it was okay. People were just themselves. People were okay with being themselves. 

Perhaps life wasn’t so strange and broken after all. Perhaps he was okay. Perhaps he’d just been too blind to realize that what he had desired for so long was in front of him all along. 

Dandelions are thought to be weeds, but they are still golden flowers. 

Home.

He had never known how much he would miss until he was without it. His mother’s cooking and the smell of incense; the rough fabric of his father’s jacket; the cold tiles of the floor; the heavy air of the city smog. Things he thought he had hated were things he thought back on fondly.

It had been hard to accept himself. Even then, he was only able to do so through the growth of stronger people, who were determined to nurture him. He was grateful to the point where he didn’t think he could thank them enough in his whole lifetime. Fitting into his own skin— _accepting_ and knowing who he was—the certainty and security of that intangible feeling was priceless. Maybe that was why he’d done so well after being accepted into the government’s skating program. The self-confidence and resolve he had developed after identifying as a gay man reflected in his ice dancing, and the audience seemed to realize it, too.

The thing was, it didn’t seem to matter. The first couple of days were exhilarating and terrifying all at once. His friends cheered for him. Would his parents disown him? He still didn’t know yet. The thought of his father and mother’s disapproval after so many years of struggling was heartbreaking. But it was only a single part of him. He was so much more than that. It took him forever to realize, but he was multiple facets. He was human. 

Blood is thicker than water, they say. But family is chosen. Family is those that love you. 

Blood of the brotherhood is thicker than water of the womb. 

Dandelions can be beautiful in sun, too.

He knew that he wouldn’t be able to see you right away. He had been right in that the whole of China seemed to have been waiting for him, when they’d never seen him before. He lost track of how many pictures he pretended to smile in; how many hands he was forced to shake; how many people he had to listen to politely. He only managed to trudge forwards by thinking of you. 

It was ridiculous, perhaps, how deeply he had fallen in love with you. Had he even had crushes on anybody _besides_ you? Maybe it had intensified each time he had tried to deny it, his emotions building and building under pressure to emerge into an unbreakable diamond. It was a precious gem that he held close to his heart to keep him going. Tacky? Probably, but Guang-Hong couldn’t refute it any longer. 

He loved you. 

More than a friend, different than a brother—he wanted to marry you, grow old with you, and fall deeper and deeper in love with you. He wanted to hear it back to him. He wanted you to know how he felt.

Tacky? Yes, but true. Requited? He could only hope. But he had somehow found a shred of bravery, and he would hold onto it until the end. If he ruined his relationship with you, he could never forgive himself, but he would hate himself until the end of time if he never tried.

Finally, the day came. He wriggled himself out of the house by clambering out of a window. It was stupid looking, yes, but effective. He would never be able to get away if everybody else were awake or heard him leave. 

The cool morning streets were dewy and Guang-Hong had to pace off his nervous energy. He had already run through the countless outcomes of this confrontation in his head. A handful were good, and many were unthinkably bad, but he liked to pretend that he had prepared himself.

Two knocks. His knuckles were hard and shaky against the door. You opened quickly, the lock unlatching almost immediately after he lifted his hand away. Surprise was etched on your features, which looked older than he had remembered, and prettier off of a computer screen.

“Ji Guang-Hong,” you murmured almost wondrously, as if not yet believing that he were there. You grinned and held your arms out for a hug. “I missed you, man!”

He practically dove in for the embrace, his head settling against yours a bit roughly due to impact. Happy laughter spilled out of his mouth before he could control his emotions. Hot tears even welled in his eyes and he blinked them away before pulling away from you, your hands still clutching his shoulders.

“I have something to tell you. Before I lose my nerve,” he blurted out rapidly, before you could say anything. Your eyebrows raised the same way they did in your childhood, one arching more than the other. You didn’t say anything but nodded, stepping out into the hall with him and closing the door. You could sense that it was something serious. His heart pounded in his chest, choking him out of air as he tried to figure out what to say. 

_“It’s easy!” one of his fellow American trainees had said, “just don’t think about anything except for how you feel about them. Whatever comes after will come, but at least you said it.”_

It wasn’t difficult to think about what he felt for you. His chest was already warm at the sight of you as you shifted your weight, waiting for whatever he had to say. Your hair was a bit shorter than he’d last remembered it. Your shoulders were broad. Masculine. Boys were meant to be boys… but dandelions aren’t always meant to be weeds.

Sometimes, they can be flowers, too.

“I love you,” he said, quickly, so that he wouldn’t back down. He squared his shoulders and balanced his weight, like he might before a difficult jump. “I always have. More than platonic, or brotherly, or… anything. I love you. I really do.” 

我爱你. Simple. Easy. Just think about what you feel… and for him, it was love.

“You’re… serious?” you breathed. Your eyes were wide, and he was almost afraid to look at your face. When he finally forced himself to pick his gaze up off of the ground, an immense rush of relief flooded him. There was no hatred or disgust. Only joy.

“I’m serious,” he agreed, his words muffled as you suddenly rushed forwards to hug him. You were already laughing, your strong embrace wrapped around him tightly.

“I love you too!” you said gleefully, “in the same way. I was always too afraid to tell you… isn’t that funny? You’ve always been a scaredy-cat, and here you are, braver than me.”

“You do? Good, good.” He felt his knees shaking, more than they ever had, even before career-determining performances. You had the power to make him melt and then build him back up. You were his weak point and his sturdiest foundation. He was laughing, too, the both of you trembling in each other’s arms. “It is funny. It’s—”

He forgot what he was about to say as you leant him back and kissed him. It was gentle, his lip catching between yours, the forgotten stubble on the bottom of your chin giving him electric shocks on his sensitive skin. It was too quick, though, and he hardly had time to think about it before your touch was gone. Your eyes were serious as he re-opened his.

“I want to be there for you in the long run. I want you to be able to lean on me. Will you let me… Guang-Hong?”

He didn’t even know why you were asking. He was already nodding before you finished.

“Yes.”

The next kiss was sweeter than golden honey.

**Author's Note:**

> Elsewhere: http://deltachye.tumblr.com/post/154984365821/%E8%8A%B1-k-malereader-guang-hong-ji-flowers-bloom


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